


His Centaur Girlfriend

by Stark_Raving_Madlad



Series: Once Upon a Blind Date [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Centaurs, Detective Noir, F/M, Human/Monster Romance, Magic, Mystery, Orcs, Porn With Plot, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Urban Fantasy, centaur sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark_Raving_Madlad/pseuds/Stark_Raving_Madlad
Summary: Jack is a human author. Deirdre is a centauress and a private detective. Together they're going to solve a magical mystery for the femme fatale wife of a wealthy businessorc.
Relationships: Male Human/Female Centaur
Series: Once Upon a Blind Date [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917178
Kudos: 6





	1. Nice Hooves You Have There

**Author's Note:**

> Please be sure to begin by reading Part One of the story: "[Once Upon a Blind Date](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26380057)".

Deirdre was a centauress. She appeared to be human from the waist up, but from the waist down she was a petite horse—really more of a large pony, so that her human torso merged into the horse body in fairly normal-looking proportions.  
  
She had chestnut-colored fur and wore a yellow t-shirt (stretched tight over her generous bust) with an image of a daisy on it. She didn't stand much taller than Jack.  
  
"I hope you don't mind starting with salad," she said, holding up the extra-large salad-bowl in her hands.  
  
"I don't mind at all," said Jack, doing his level-best to keep his voice even. "I had a big lunch today. Ate like a horse." He winced. "I mean—I don't mean to offend—I'm not calling you a horse—or saying that you eat too much—I mean—"  
  
Now it was Deirdre's turn to gape at Jack, dumbfounded. She stared at him for a long moment, her jaw dropped, doing a fantastic impression of a surprised fish. Then, in a very timid voice, she said, "You can see my—all of me?"  
  
"You mean, can I see that you're a—a centaur?" said Jack. "Yeah, that's pretty hard to miss."  
  
"Oh. Oh, wow." Deirdre looked as if she were going to faint. She trotted over to the dinner table, set down the salad-blow, and then leaned over the table to hold herself up. "This must be such a shock to you."  
  
"Well… I'll admit, I didn't believe in centaurs before now. But…" Jack shrugged, "I like to think I'm a pretty open-minded person. I read a lot of science-fiction and fantasy; that's probably why I'm not freaking out right now." He paused. "I _should_ be freaking out right now, shouldn't I?"  
  
Deirdre smiled weakly. "That _is_ how most guys normally react when I finally show them the real me. But I've never sprung the fact that I have—have a horse's ass—on a guy during the first date!"  
  
"Well," said Jack, walking over to the dinner table and sitting down, "now I'm curious. How do you hide being a centaur? And how did you become one?"  
  
"Then… you're still interested in our date?" asked Deirdre. Her voice was still meek, as if she feared rejection, and there was no disguising the hint of hope in it.  
  
Jack thought about how disastrous all his other recent dates had been, and how much nicer and more normal Deirdre seemed, even in spite of the fact that she had the lower half of a horse. "More than ever," he admitted.  
  
"All right," said Deirdre. "Let's have dinner, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

And so, while Deirdre served the salads, Jack thought about what intrigued him the most. In fact, the first question that came to mind was somewhat out of left field. "So, you’re an Irish centaur?"

Deirdre almost didn’t know what to make of that. "Uh… I’m sure that if I traced my family history all the way back, we'd be Greek originally. But nowadays? Centaurs live in every country, all over the world. It’s the same with most demihumans, really.”

"So, you’ve always been a centaur, then," said Jack. "This isn’t, like, a curse or a magic spell or anything?"  
  
"Oh, I was definitely born this way," said Deirdre with a nervous laugh. "Both of my parents were centaurs too. Although, my grandmother on my dad's side was human."  
  
"Really!? So, humans and centaurs can have children together?"  
  
"Mm-hm," said Deirdre with a nod. She didn't sit down at the table the way Jack did; there was no way for her to do that. She just stood next to the table as she ate, lifting the plate up with one hand and poking at the greenery with her fork held in the other. Much to Jack's astonishment, she was already on her third helping. "When humans and demihumans have kids, they can be born as either parent's species. Fifty-fifty chance each time."  
  
"No kidding," said Jack. "I wonder how you explain the genetics of that…"  
  
Deirdre shrugged. "Search me. As far as I know, nobody's even tried to figure it out yet."  
  
"Of course not," said Jack. "The world doesn't know that centaurs exist. How do you—or, uh, your people, how do they manage that?"

"Well," said Deirdre, "the truth is, most centaurs stay out of the public eye by living somewhere remote and limiting their interaction with the outside world. But that's not always possible for all of us all the time. So, when we have to live somewhere that's crowded, we get our hooves shod with magic horseshoes that muffle our steps and make our horse-halves invisible.  
  
"It's actually a little more complicated than that, since the magic also puts an illusion of human legs and clothes and shoes around our forelegs, and makes it look like we can sit down in public. Mostly, though, we just have to be really careful about moving around in tight spaces, not bumping into things, and not letting anyone else bump into us."  
  
"And that actually works?" said Jack with apparent skepticism.  
  
"It's worked so far," said Deirdre with a shrug of her shoulders. "Unless something's happened since the last time I watched the news."  
  
"Fair enough," said Jack. His own little salad-bowl was empty now, and Deirdre had polished off all the rest of it herself.  
  
"Wait right here," she said, excusing herself from the table and heading for the kitchen. (Enchanted horseshoes or no, Jack could definitely hear the clip-clop of Deirdre’s hooves on her hardwood floor.) "I'll go check on dinner's next course."  
  
"Next course?" Jack echoed.  
  
A minute later, Deirdre returned from the kitchen holding a large roasting-pan with oven-mitts. She set a corned beef roast with cabbage and potatoes on the table and said to Jack, "Dig in."  
  
"Looks delicious," said Jack, while Deirdre took up a knife and fork and carved the meat.  
  
"At this point," said Deirdre, "my date would normally ask, 'don't centaurs have to eat hay or something?'"  
  
"The thought never crossed my mind," said Jack. "Cross my heart."  
  
"I can tell that you're curious about it anyway," said Deirdre. "I don't mind. It's actually nice to meet a guy who seems to be genuinely interested in what it's like to be a centaur."  
  
"Now that, I _am_ curious about," said Jack. After trying the food and complimenting Deirdre on her cooking skills (which made her blush), he said, "All right, I'll bite. I know horses can't digest a lot of meat. But centaurs can?"  
  
Deirdre nodded. "We have to eat a lot of roughage, but we like our people-food too. Same as you."  
  
"I guess that makes sense," Jack reasoned. "Ancient Greek centaurs are always depicted with a bow and arrow, but they wouldn't have been hunters if they couldn't eat any meat."  
  
"Oh, hunting is still very important to centaur culture," said Deirdre. "Remind me to tell you all about it sometime! But in the meanwhile, what would you like to do after dinner?"  
  
"Well I had been thinking of a movie, but… can you go to a theater?"  
  
"Doable, but risky," said Deirdre. "I'd have to sit in an aisle. I prefer to go during the day, when theaters are mostly empty anyway."  
  
"All right," said Jack. He thought for a moment and then suggested, "How about a walk in the park? It should be pretty nice out this time of the evening."  
  
"Sounds lovely," said Deirdre. She pushed away from the table again, trotted over to a wine-rack, and came back with two stemmed glasses and a bottle of something red. "Would you like a drink before we go?"

"Maybe when we get back?" Jack suggested.  
  
Deirdre blushed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I guess I'm just a little nervous."  
  
Jack stood up and took Deirdre's hands in his, trying to be reassuring. "You don't have to be. I'm not freaked out, I promise."  
  
"Really?" Deirdre still sounded halfway mortified. "That's a relief, because let me tell you, I did _not_ intend for you to find out what I am this soon. Not unless we hit it off and it looked like this might be going somewhere. Not that I like lying to my dates, but—"  
  
"But it's kind of a big secret. I get it," said Jack. "I really do."  
  
"No, you don't," said Deirdre. "Any time I've ever tried to date a human guy that I liked—and there aren't really any other options around here—it's never gotten past the point of my telling them the truth. The moment I drop the glamour, they see the hooves, the fur, the flanks, and all of the sudden they're too grossed out to even touch me. And so they end it." She paused, looked away in disgust, and added, "Well, except for this one guy, I thought he might be the one. But it turns out he liked horses better than people." Deirdre shot an accusatory glare at Jack and asked, "You aren't—"  
  
"Nooooo!" said Jack, throwing up both hands. "No way, nuh-uh. I can promise you that I am _not_ a—what do you call it—'furry' isn't the right word—a _zoophile_."  
  
Deirdre sighed. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to sound like that. It's just that, well, you're the first normal-seeming guy I've met who hasn't looked like he wants to _throw up_ at the slightest thought of dating me."  
  
Jack took one of Deirdre's hands again and looked her in the eye. "I guess you just don't seem all that weird to me." He shrugged. "Like I said earlier, I grew up reading sci-fi. The Chronicles of Narnia were some my favorite books as a kid. Read mythology, played D&D, that sort of thing; you know? I guess I just think centaurs are… kinda cool."  
  
"You think me being a centaur is 'cool'?" said Deirdre. She sounded truly perplexed.  
  
"Well… yeah. Your, um, your species is always portrayed in fantasy as, like, really badass and stuff. Knights and rangers and warriors. Plus the star-gazing and the fortune-telling. I don't know how far off all that is from the reality, but… I'm curious to find out. If you don't mind."  
  
Deirdre grinned, and (to both her surprise and Jack's) blinked away some tears that she didn't know she was on the verge of shedding. She wiped her eyes and said, "You know, you really are kind of a nerd."  
  
"A badge I'll wear with pride," said Jack with a grin.  
  
"Guess it's the price I'll have to pay if I want to find a decent guy who won't go screaming down the street at the sight of me," said Deirdre half-seriously. "So… how about that walk?"  
  
Jack offered Deirdre his arm, and she wrapped her own around it. "Let's go."


	2. The Measure of a Man

The city park was a few blocks away. Jack and Deirdre strolled down the sidewalks together arm-in-arm, and Jack was surprised to note that Deirdre wasn't drawing _any_ stares. Even a normal human girl as pretty as Deirdre (and wearing a crop-top stretched over tits as big as hers) should have been drawing more than discreet glances from every guy they passed. But instead, it was as if nobody noticed her at all.

"Those magic horseshoes of yours are really something," commented Jack. "I wonder why in the heck they didn't work on me—not that I'm complaining."

"Illusions don't always work on the very perceptive or the very strong-willed," said Deirdre. "And some people can just sort of see through them—if they have a psychic talent, like a knack for ESP."

"I don't think I'm psychic," said Jack, "and I don't know about willpower or whatever. But maybe it's the 'perceptive' thing."

"Oh?" asked Deirdre. The park was in sight now, and they altered their path to head towards it. "Why's that?"

"Because of what I do for a living. I'm a writer."

Deirdre stopped short, all four of her hooves quietly "clopping" on the pavement together. Jack, his arm still linked with Deirdre's, almost stumbled. "You're _that_ Jack Doyle? The novel writer!?"

"Yeah, that's me," said Jack, his face reddening. In point of fact, he wrote fantasy novels—urban fantasy novels, about magical creatures living in the modern-day world—and if Deirdre had read them and knew that, he'd probably never live it down. "I don't suppose you've read anything of mine? The 'Mage-Noir Alley' series?" He winced, waiting for the inevitable.

"Are you kidding? I _love_ those books! And—" Deirdre paused and covered an ear-to-ear grin with one hand, "—one of your main characters is a centaur!"

Jack was already nodding along. "Detective Jackson's police liaison, Lt. Ftiz McCampbell—"

"'Who could put hooves to pavement better than any detective in the precinct, and half the mounted cops to boot!'" she quoted, laughing.

"God, now I'm just embarrassed," said Jack. "I must have gotten so many details wrong."

They crossed under the archway into the park proper, and now they strolled along neatly-maintained paths between grassy hillocks, flower-patches, and little copses of trees. There was a bridge over a babbling brook up ahead where an old man had a fishing rod out over the water; and in a distant field, some picnickers were playing frisbee with their dog.

"Well it's not like we can expect humans who don't know anything about us to get all the little details right," said Deirdre. "That wouldn't be fair."

"No, I guess not," said Jack. "But I can already tell that I was way off the mark. Your size, for one thing."

Deirdre followed Jack's gaze and looked back over her shoulder, at her equine flanks, her tail swishing jauntily behind her as she trotted. "What about my size?"

"Well, in stories, centaurs are always—you know. Big. Big enough for a person to ride."

Deirdre giggled. "I'm plenty strong. I could carry you on my back if you really wanted me to." She cocked a thumb at the old man on the bridge behind them, who was still totally focused on watching the bobber on his fishing-line. "But _he_ might think it was kind of weird, seeing a little slip of a girl like me giving a big ol' hunk like you a piggyback-ride."

"Is that how your illusion magic works? People just see whatever makes the most sense to them in a given situation?"

"Pretty much. In fact—" Deirdre pulled Jack by the hand until they were both off the path and trotting down a grassy embankment, down to the edge of a still little pond that was fed by the brook. She stood arm-in-arm with Jack, and they both leaned over the water and peered in. "Tell me what you see."

Jack looked and spied their reflections. "I see—us. Except, you're not really you." Sure enough, the reflected Deirdre in the pond appeared to be a normal human girl in a daisy-yellow sun-dress.

As they headed back toward the path, Jack asked, "How come the reflected illusion still works on me?"

"Oh, that even works on _me_ ," said Deirdre. "That just how the magic works. That way, if I need to make sure the spell is still active, I can always just look in a mirror."

"That's handy."

"Mm-hm."

They got back on the path and resumed their stroll. Jack, overcome by curiosity, asked, "So is it really the case that all centaurs are about your size, or are there, like, different—um—"

"Different 'breeds'?" suggested Deirdre. "It's okay, you can ask this kind of stuff. I won't get offended, or think you're calling me a horse."

Jack chuckled nervously. "I just don't want to say the wrong thing and ruin our date."

Deirdre leaned her head on Jack's shoulder and said, "It's actually going pretty well so far, isn't it? Anyway, to answer your question, no, there aren't Clydesdale centaurs and Shetland centaurs. Our horse-halves are always pretty much sized to match our human halves. Just like in the paintings on those Ancient Greek urns."

"I guess it would make things kind of awkward otherwise," said Jack. "Then we couldn't hold hands like this."

"And we wouldn't be compatible if we went to bed together," said Deirdre. Then she stopped in her tracks, covered her mouth with both hands, and turned bright, beet red in the face. "I mean—I don't know why I said that—"

"It's okay," said Jack, forcing a laugh to ease the tension. In truth, he'd been kind of worried about that, and so he decided to press the issue, and hopefully make Deirdre more comfortable with discussing it. "Since you brought it up, I'm kind of glad to finally know. That we can be 'compatible', I mean."

Deirdre, still blushing fiercely, said, "I _did_ already tell you that humans and centaurs can have children together."

"Yes, you did," said Jack, "but that's not exactly the same thing as knowing that a human and a centaur can, you know, enjoy each other's company in the bedroom. What I mean is, I'm sure that compared to a male of your species, there's no way that I can—measure up—"

Now Jack was blushing and stammering too, and Deirdre said, "Can we please just talk about _anything_ else?"

"Okay." Jack thought for a moment and then said, "You know that I'm a writer. What do you do for a living?"

"Well it's funny you should mention that," said Deirdre, "given the character in your books."

"How so? Wait, don't tell me—are you a cop?" asked Jack, astonished by the coincidence.

"Not exactly," said Deirdre. "Actually, I’m a private investigator. With a reputation for specializing in magical and non-human cases."

"That is so incredibly cool."

Deirdre shrugged. "Meh. Like most P.I.s, the reality is a lot less glamorous than books and TV. Most of my clients are just, you know, aggrieved spouses being cheated on by some two-timing scumbag who thinks they can hide having a piece on the side."

"And so they hire you to find proof?"

"Yeah. And that can be pretty hard to do, if one of the cheating parties is a demihuman, or someone else with magic. But I have my tricks of the trade."

By now, it was getting later in the evening, and the path had looped back around on itself. They were coming back to the little bridge over the brook again, and the old fisherman was gone. So they stopped to lean on the railing together and watch the sun set. "There's something else that books—including mine—and the movies always get wrong," commented Jack "About centaurs, I mean."

"What's that?"

"Well you know how in movies, centaurs always have, like, horsey faces? As if the movie is trying to scream at the audience, 'these are centaurs!' and the actual horse-half isn't enough of a giveaway? But the overall effect is, they just look kind of ugly and fake." Jack shook his head. "I can't imagine how they get it so wrong. You're _beautiful_."

Deirdre blushed and said, "Well we're not one-hundred percent exactly the same as humans from the waist up. Here," and she brushed her hair away to show Jack her ears. "See?"

"They're pointed. They look… elvish."

"Yep. It's something we have in common with elves, wood-nymphs, and satyrs. Has something to do with being distantly related to woodland fairies."

"Groovy."

Awkward silence fell. They watched the sunset and stole surreptitious glances at each other. Jack wondered whether Deirdre wanted him to kiss her, and Deirdre wondered whether Jack would work up the nerve to try. Instead, once the sun was down, he suggested that they head back to her place.

Deirdre couldn't hide the hint of anticipation in her voice. "Okay!"

* * *

Jack and Deirdre made their way from the park back to her house, and all too soon they were standing on the driveway between his car and her front door.

"This is it," said Deirdre.

"What's it?" asked Jack.

"The moment of truth. This is the point where every guy I've ever dated kisses me goodnight, drives away, and never calls back."

"I'm not going to do that," said Jack.

"You aren't?"

Jack shook his head. "But I'm still going to kiss you just the same."

And Deirdre, almost too surprised to react, had to process the fact that Jack's lips were suddenly on hers, and his arms were wrapped around her human waist and resting on her withers. About eight seconds went by before she had the wherewithal to kiss him back and hold him tight against her bountiful bosom.

A moment later, they were catching their breath, and Deirdre said, "Sorry about that; it's just been a _really_ long time since I've actually been that close with a guy."

"Well if you want in on a little secret, it's been a long time for me too," said Jack.

"You!? Really?"

"Let's just say that I'm no good at finding my own dates, and my friends have this nasty, long-running track-record of setting me up with psychos."

"Ouch."

"'Ouch' doesn't begin to describe the half of it," said Jack. "'Keep the fire department on speed-dial!' would come closer."

They both laughed, and then Deirdre opened her front door and said, "Earlier, I believe I offered to open a bottle of wine. That is definitely happening now."

"Sounds perfect."

Before they knew it, Jack and Deirdre were both reclining on her couch, each with a wine glass in hand. That couch was big enough that it dominated Deirdre's living-room, and Deirdre still took up more than half of it with her body resting on the cushions and all four of her legs drawn up close. Jack was actually able to get a look at her horseshoes now, and asked what exactly the glittery, silvery metal was. "Mithril?"

"Pretty sure Tolkien made that word up," said Deirdre. "It _is_ elfin steel, but they call it something different."

That led to a deeper discussion of fantasy literature and mythology which, as it turned out, Deirdre was extremely knowledgeable about—especially Celtic, and classical Greek and Roman myths. She was able to match Jack point for point on just about any topic involving the old gods and all their myths and legends. And when it came to magical and religious practices, she was actually significantly far more learned thanks to her heritage and the front-row seat that it provided.

The hours wiled by, until three empty wine-bottles sat on the coffee-table before them, and Jack and Deirdre were leaning close together and feeling pleasantly flushed from the alcohol and the company. When Jack leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on Deirdre's lips, she responded warmly and pulled him close. When they broke it off to take a breath, Deirdre said, "I never thought I'd do this on a first date, but—"

"But it's been a while," said Jack. "I know what you mean." He brushed his hand through Deirdre's pretty red hair and said, "This isn't just happening because we're drunk and desperate, is it? I really like you, and I really want this."

"I do too," said Deirdre. "And that's not just the wine talking. You're a great guy, and I don't want to mess this up."

"I don't want to mess up either," said Jack. "You're an amazing girl—centaur?— _centaurette_ ," he decided on that last word, hoping through the inebriation that it was the correct one.

Deirdre giggled, and they resumed kissing, but this time Jack boldly moved to pull Deirdre's t-shirt off. She raised up her arms and let her lips break contact with Jack's just long enough for the shirt to pass by and up over her head. This left Deirdre wearing only one article of clothing, a lacy gray bra (which must have had some industrial-grade integrity, to contain her centaur-sized knockers without bursting whenever she moved at any speed faster than a canter). Deirdre then reciprocated, pulling Jack's shirt over his head, and she gasped when she saw her date shirtless. He was _ripped_. "Oh…" she practically moaned, just from the sight of him. "Where were you hiding all of _this_?"

Jack chuckled. "I do martial arts," he said by way of explanation. "Big nerd, remember?"

Deirdre bit her lower lip, reached back behind her human torso, and undid the clasp on her bra. She held it fast for a moment, teasingly, and then let the undergarment drop, and along with it came the bounce of her gloriously revealed tits. If Jack wasn't already standing at full mast before, his jeans and boxers were definitely uncomfortably tight now. "Your turn," said Deirdre.

Jack was hesitant. Deirdre said that they should be 'compatible', but could a man really measure up to a centaur? He undid his jeans, hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of his boxers, and slid everything down.

Deirdre immediately reached out and took Jack's cock into her hands, giving it a few soft, tentative strokes. He was rock-hard and ready. At this point, she wouldn't need much encouragement. "Kiss me," she demanded.

And so Jack eagerly did exactly that: he kissed Deirdre's lips, and he kissed Deirdre's neck, and he lavished the attentions of his lips and hands all over Deirdre's glorious breasts. He just couldn't get enough of those: they were huge and yet somehow spectacularly gravity-defiant. That must have been some kind of fairy-magic, right?

For her part, Deirdre just leaned back on her couch and luxuriated in the wonderful sensation of having a man touch her all over. This was what she'd longed for, what she'd missed all these years, and it was finally about to happen, at long last… or was it?

While Deirdre used her hands to keep Jack's erection at full, he teased her nipples with his kisses and his tongue until she almost couldn't take it anymore. The pleasant sensation gave way to the tingle of over-stimulation, and Deirdre wondered whether Jack weren't hesitating to move on from her human half.

"You really like my tits," she said with a gasping breath.

"They're so beautiful!"

"They can't take much more," said Deirdre.

Jack immediately backed off. "Oops!" he said. "Guess I got carried away."

Deirdre responded by standing up off the couch, while at the same time taking Jack by the hand and standing him up too. She kissed him; and then she pranced about in a tight circle so that her hindquarters faced Jack. She looked over her shoulder, met Jack's eyes, and lifted her tail, revealing the dripping wet, black leathery lips of her vagina. "Fuck my mare-pussy!" she said. "Please, I can't take it anymore—no more teasing!"

Jack swallowed. "I—I just hope that I _can_."

Deirdre's expression softened. "You can. I know you can."

"I know I'm not as big as a centaur."

"It'll still feel good," said Deirdre. "Trust me. Plus, human guys can do something that centaur guys can't." She walked backwards a little, pressing her hindquarters up against Jack's groin in a way that (she hoped) was both encouraging and enticing to him.

"What's that?"

"You can be inside me and still reach my clit."

Suddenly realizing that she was exactly right, Jack wasted no more time plunging into her. Deirdre gasped, and a look of ecstasy overcame her face. "That's it—that's it—yeah—oh yeah—!" Her cries were very quickly reduced to uneven gasps and squeaks of pleasure as Jack did his best to thrust into her while standing up straight. Actually, the angle wasn't all that difficult to work with—just not at all what Jack was used to.

"You—feel—amazing—" Jack gasped, and it wasn't very long at all before he too was vocalizing wordlessly.

Deirdre managed to counter back a quick, "Told—you—so—"

—before Jack decided to play the trump card, using one hand to brace himself by clinging to Deirdre's tail and letting the other run down underneath her sopping-wet pussy to find her clitoris. Deirdre's reaction was a keening moan of pleasure and a tight clamping down of her (rather scarily controllable) vaginal muscles on Jack's dick.

Jack grunted and exclaimed, "This is doing—wonders for—my male ego—"

Deirdre couldn't say anything. Instead, she leaned backwards as far as her human torso would permit—she couldn't quite double all the way over her equine back, but she was flexible enough to come close. Deirdre's face, upside down from Jack's perspective, was glowing angelically, contorting with pleasure and love. She reached her arms out, and Jack was able to take one of her hands into his. Her breasts were unfortunately just out of Jacks' reach, but the sight of them, sticking not quite straight up in the air (they fell a little to either side of her, since she was leaning back, and even tits as amazing as those had to obey gravity _sometimes_ ), bouncing and wobbling with each of his thrusts, was the most erotic thing that Jack had seen in a long, long time—and with a cry, he came inside Deirdre and then slumped forward over her flanks.

Deirdre grinned in a happy, drunken daze, still leaning back and reaching for the human behind her. "You were—"

"—Not done yet," said Jack with a deep breath. Even though he was spent, he was resolved, and he kept thrusting despite the onset of an unavoidable flaccid interval. But now he paid more attention to fingering Deirdre's clit, and she gasped and squealed and begged Jack to keep going.

Deciding that there was nothing for it, Jack decided to give his aching leg muscles a rest by kneeling down behind his centaur date and putting his mouth to work. He noticed the creampie that he'd given her horse-pussy and said, "Oh, damn it. I didn't even think about protection—"

"Don't worry about it," gasped Deirdre. "Magic. Keep going."

"Oh; right!" Jack then tried using his fingers to massage the inner walls of her labia, and (despite the fact that he had to turn his head at a funny angle to get it right) played at her clit with his tongue. That very quickly had Deirdre stamping her hooves and prancing in place, and Jack briefly considered the danger of where he stood if she truly lost control. But then Deirdre laid herself down upon her couch again, pointed Jack at her backside, and wordlessly commanded that he continue.

This was easier to manage, and although it was still something of an energy- and time-consuming job to finally bring Deirdre to a finish, he managed it—and from the way she finally reacted when she at last came, boy-howdy was it ever worth it.

After a bit of rest and some sweet, naked cuddling on the couch (with Deirdre now rearranged so that her humanoid torso could once again embrace Jack), she suggested that if he was ready, they go another round in her bedroom.

Jack was curious, until Deirdre opened up a large, sliding double-door on the other side of the kitchen (her house was a single-level ranch home with no stairs other than those that led down to the basement, where Jack assumed Deirdre rarely ventured). Deirdre's bedroom was, in a word, cute: the decorations were all girly frills in pink and yellow, right down to the little throw-pillows and stuffed animals on the bed. It was the bed that drew Jack's attention, since it was really just two large mattresses made up with identical sets of bedding, and fitted neatly against each other without any kind of bed-frame, so that they made in effect one super-sized floor-mattress bed.

Deirdre trotted onto the mattresses and then demurely lowered herself down so that her legs were tucked underneath her barrel. She leaned her human torso forward, and then with an agile roll for a creature of her size, a maneuver that took Jack quite by surprise, Deirdre turned over onto her back, so that her human back and her equine back were both flat on the mattresses, and her legs suck up out into the air.

Deirdre made a "come here" motion with one finger, and Jack knew that the night was not over yet. Nope, not by a long-shot: with Deirdre in this position, he would have much more control. This was going to be fun.


	3. The Centaur Investigator's Client

Jack and Deirdre awoke together the next morning in a tangle of sheets and shifted mattresses that smelled of sex and sweat. Jack groaned; his head was pounding. "Remind me not to drink so much next time."

In spite of her hangover, Deirdre's heart swelled. "Is there really gonna be a next time?"

Jack rolled over in the sheets and snuggled up to Deirdre's soft, furry back. "Definitely."

"I'm glad."

"Me too. In fact…" He looked up, and Deirdre glanced back over her shoulder to catch his gaze when his voice trailed off.

"What?"

"Well, I'm a writer and you're a P.I. So it kinda seems like we're both our own bosses and can set our schedules, right?"

"Are you suggesting—?"

"We can spend the day together. If you want to."

Deirdre nodded. "Let me just check my messages, see if any clients want to set up an appointment. Why don't you go fix breakfast while I do that?"

So they both got up, and Deirdre when to go find wherever it was that she'd left her phone the previous night, while Jack went into the kitchen to see what manner of grub he could rustle up. While he was rummaging through the pantry (and boy did Deirdre keep a lot of food around her place, which suited Jack just fine), he heard the centauress's voice drift in from the living room, "If you want to make us some oatmeal, you'd better use at least a whole can."

Jack glanced over at one of the shelves and noticed stacks of oat-cans; it looked like the shelf of a grocery store. One of those cans could make at least a dozen bowls for a human. But then, Deirdre was what she was; she probably knew best. So, he located a really big pot and a really long spoon, and he got to work.

* * *

While they ate, Deirdre explained that she'd had one call, a potential client who wanted to drop in on her office later in the day. Because of that, Deirdre would have to head downtown, make sure her that her office was presentable, and then open up shop. But she and Jack would still be able to have the whole morning together.

After breakfast (as it turned out, Jack was a decent cook, and he had put together some bacon and eggs from Deirdre's fridge and cut up some fruit to go with the oatmeal), the mood struck them again and they made love both before and while cleaning up in Deirdre's extra-large walk-in shower.

When midday approached, Deirdre explained that she would normally just gallop downtown to open up her office, but Jack wouldn't hear of it. "I've got a car; let me drive you! I'm sure you can fit into the back seat."

"I'll… give it a try," said Deirdre. "But it might not be the best fit."

"That's what _he_ said," quipped Jack, and Deirdre knew at once that he was referring to last night. So she just shook her head, blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, and let Jack help her into the car. It was indeed awkward, but they managed.

A short time later, Jack was parallel-parked on a busy downtown street and helping Deirdre back onto her own four hooves. She led Jack to a frosted glass door on the bottom level of a brown brick building, one of several packed together on this block, with tight and dingy little alleys between them. Painted on the door was a sign of Sagittarius and the name, "Arrow Investigations. (Deirdre Flynn, P.I.)."

Jack couldn't help but comment, "Reminds me of one my books… Either that, or a Jessica Jones comic."

Deirdre rolled her eyes and led Jack into her small office. It wasn't pretty, but it got the job done: filling the office were her desk, the secretary's desk (presently unoccupied), some impossibly old computers on both (when Deirdre booted up hers, Jack had to blink twice: was that Windows _'98_!?), a beat-up fridge that looked like it had survived a nuclear strike, a window-unit AC, and a dead potted plant.

Jack looked at the secretary's desk. "Does anyone else actually work here?"

"Define 'work'," said Deirdre. "I have a friend who helps out, but she's not exactly what I'd call a reliable employee."

"Why's that?"

"Well, she's dead, for starters."

"Come again?"

"Polly is a poltergeist. But she isn't here right now. You can tell on account of how quiet and not-levitating everything is."

"Okay…"

"You can use her desk if you like. To do some writing or whatever while I straighten up."

"I would," said Jack, glancing at the ancient computer, "but I'm afraid that thing might boot to an A> prompt in CP/M if I try to turn it on."

Deirdre blinked. "You are such a nerd."

"Why don't I just give you a hand?"

"All right."

* * *

A couple of hours later, the office was all spruced up and dusted, the dead plant was in a garbage can out in the alley (leaving the pot an empty, esoteric decoration of a sort), and Deirdre was standing behind her desk awaiting the arrival of the potential new client. Jack sat at the secretary's desk, his feet up on it, the curly telephone-style cord stretched out so that he could keep the old clicky keyboard in his lap while he played around. (As it turned out, he wasn't so far off the mark with his initial guess: the computer on Polly's desk was a badly out-of-date UNIX workstation with no GUI. So, the prompt on the command line was [polly@purgatory ~]$ , but to Jack it was the same difference. Nothing to do on this machine but trawl through Polly's files and look for something interesting.)

At about 1:30 in the afternoon, the bell on the front door rang, and the door swung open. Deirdre’s new client appeared in the doorway.

She was an orc—a seven-foot-tall bombshell of an orcish woman, with a killer figure practically poured into a painted-on red dress that clung to her every taut muscle and feminine curve. Her high-heeled shoes were red as well and _clacked_ on the office's tile floors. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with a black veil hanging down in front of it, but even through the veil Jack could see the orc-woman's piercing red-and-yellow eyes, cute upturned nose, and two fetching little tusks jutting up from inside her pouty (and red-lipsticked) lower lip.

"Hello," said the orcess in a soft and sultry voice. "I'm looking for a Ms. Deirdre Flynn; do I have the right office?"

Deirdre trotted out from around her desk and said, "That's me. How can I help you?"

The orc spared a glance at Jack, who still had his feet up on the secretary’s desk; he was now watching this drama unfold like a bad daytime TV serial. Then she said to Deirdre, "My name is Bonecrusher—Mrs. Tonya Bonecrusher. I have a problem that I think you can help me with. What are your rates?"

Deirdre quoted the woman a dollar-figure per day, with the private eye's usual clause: "…plus expenses incurred."

Mrs. Bonecrusher nodded. "That seems acceptable. Well then, I'd better tell you my story. You see, an item of great sentimental value has been stolen. For reasons I'd rather not get into, I cannot simply go to the police; and bringing the insurance companies in on this matter would make things far too unpleasant and complicated. Therefore—"

"I understand," said Deirdre, "and I can assure you that Arrow Investigations keeps all cases confidential, and operates with total discretion."

The orc sniffed the air, glared at Jack again, and said, "Discretion, you say? It doesn't take an orc's sense of smell to tell that you're sleeping with your secretary. That doesn't seem very discreet."

Jack practically fell backwards in his chair.

"Mr. Doyle isn't my secretary; he's my partner," said Deirdre coldly, "and what we do when we're off the clock is of no concern to any of my clients. I'm sure you understand."

"…Of course," answered Mrs. Bonecrusher with just a hint of condescension in her voice. "To business, then. It would appear that I have lost track of my late husband's badge of office as a clan chieftain."

Deirdre's eyes widened. "I didn't know orcs still had clan chieftains in this day and age!"

"Oh, the position is more ceremonial than anything else," said Tonya. "Derek inherited the badge from an ancestor who conquered and pillaged like a real orc. But you know how these males can be nowadays: for my husband, it wasn't an important artifact of orc culture or a symbol of his warrior heritage. It was an art piece, a little something to gloat about over cigars and brandy with the other wealthy businessorcs at the lodge."

"I see," said Deirdre. She took out a notepad and a pen. "Can you describe the item?"

Jack leaned forward over the secretary's desk in rapt fascination as Mrs. Bonecrusher gave her description. "It's a jade amulet, about four inches across, carved into the shape of a boar's head. The art style is similar to early Mongolian, contemporaneous with the Tang dynasty in China—"

"I think that should do it," said Deirdre, closing the notepad.

"Well," said Tonya, "if there are no more questions—"

"I have one," said Jack, raising his hand like a schoolboy. "Does this amulet have any unusual or supernatural properties?"

Mrs. Bonecrusher's eyes widened, and she looked mildly offended at the question. But Deirdre pressed the issue. "It's a fair question. We should have all the information, in case something unexpected happens."

"I see," said Tonya. "Well, you're right of course. The answer is no; no magical properties, as far as I'm aware. But I suppose you can never really tell with these very old objects of great cultural significance." There was just a hint of a quaver in her voice as she said this. Jack picked up on it; he wondered whether Deirdre did as well.

"Now," continued the orcess, "if that's all, I have other pressing matters I must attend to. Do you have any more questions, Detective?"

Deirdre asked a few more perfunctory questions about where the item had last been seen, whether Tonya had any idea where it might be now, and whether she or her late husband had any enemies, or knew of anyone who might want the badge. Tonya was not able to be of much help regarding most of those queries, except to point out that the amulet had last been seen while on loan to a state university art museum right here in the city.

"That should be enough of a lead to get started then," said Deirdre.

"Better than enough," Jack cut in. "I went to State. I'm sure my alma mater will let us poke around in the back of the art department museum if I'm the one who's asking."

Tonya glanced at Jack again, wondering what kind of pull a PI's junior partner could possibly have with a big state university; but she didn't ask. She just bade the detective and her partner good day, and left—but not without first generously paying Deirdre three days' advance. "And if you find it before then, consider the rest a bonus," Tonya had said before departing.

Deirdre counted the cash over her desk while Jack once again leaned back in the other chair. "I think this'll be fun," he said after a while. "Me a writer, and you a detective, going on a case together? It's starting to feel like an episode of _Castle_."

Deirdre, having finished up with the cash and placed it inside her office's safe, trotted over to Jack, leaned down over him, and kissed him. After a delightful bit of Frenching, she broke the kiss, shook her head, and said, "Such a dork."

Jack could only grin; he didn’t disagree.


End file.
